


I can't help but remember

by makingitwork



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, Post-Maeve's death, dealing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:45:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1470325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can't help but remember her. He just can't help it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I can't help but remember

He can't hear anything.

There's a roaring in his ears, it's so loud, he can't hear anything. He registered the ring of the gunshot, he always has. He hears the sound far too often. But the roaring- god, is it getting louder? He falls to his knees, he can't blink, he can't move, and he thinks he hears the sound of his knee caps clinking hollowly against the cement. But he can't be sure. She's dead.

She's beautiful. The most beautiful thing he has ever seen in his life, hair the colour of autumn roses, and even with the blood soaking her cheek, even with the gaping wound just above her left ear...she's the most beautiful thing he has ever seen in his life. He has to keep looking at her. He doesn't register the obscenely pale girl beside her, just her. What she's wearing, jewellery- none. No watch either. No makeup, that makes him happy. That makes him so happy, because she doesn't need makeup. He wants to reach forward, brush his knuckles against her cheek, but there's so much blood. The roaring is almost silenced by her beauty. 

"Reid?" someone whispers, the voice is so soft, but he can't move. Can barely hear it, they might have been yelling, the roaring won't let him register "Come on, kid, I need you to get up, come on," they're getting louder, but still. How does Spencer even know they're talking to him? He just does. The way she would just know. In that moment, he thinks of Rothchild, the white haired psychopath. He thinks of his views of perfection, 'without right or wrong, how would we recognise perfection?' for the first time, Spencer understands. Maeve was perfect. The definition, textbook and reality. She was perfect. He'd been with the perfect woman. And she was gone- because he couldn't kiss with enough passion. Quite frankly, he doubted if he ever could again. She's not perfect because of her wonderful cheekbones, or sparkling eyes, or autumn hair. Not perfect because of her brain, or her work ethic, or the way she knew what he was doing without seeing him. She just was. Spencer Reid knew everything, and he knew this. "Reid please," they're begging now, and he's rapidly facing the truth of the situation. She's gone. She's gone- wait, someone's hauling him up, dark, strong muscled arms are forcing him to stand. He can't look away, he won't, and all he registers is that Maeve's beautiful silhouette is getting smaller and smaller, as he's dragged away. 

It's Morgan. No one else could handle him so easily, yet so gently at the same time. Morgan. Derek Morgan. The name springs forth so many thoughts, but the most recent one springs to mind. Morgan had promised, he'd promised that the first thing he would say to Maeve would be that he loved her, when in fact, the exact opposite had happened. Of course Reid knew. He knew she had understood, because she was perfect. But he was angry, he was so angry, he was so hurt, he was so...so god damn exhausted! "So tired." Was what he whispered, and someone was making him sit on the back of an ambulance, legs swinging over the edge, the cool night air blowing in his face, through his hair. His hair, he must have looked a mess to her. But she didn't mind. Because she was perfect.

Morgan moves to stand in front of him, and jealously glimmers up as Reid sees him. So strong, so handsome, so brave. Maybe Maeve would have preferred him. Morgan would have been able to save her, he would have been able to convince Diana. "Come on kid, don't do this. Don't do this," he's desperate and Spencer notes water in his eyes. Is it raining? No, he's crying. Why would he be crying? He didn't even know Maeve. "Please kid, respond, you've gotta talk, Reid, come on- come on Reid we need consent!"

Consent? Consent to what? What is he talking about? Apparently the confusion appears on his face and Morgan looked deflated, he places a hand on Reid's neck. 

"Reid, you've got a bullet in your arm and the Doctor's need to take it out, they need consent for narcotics Reid, they need consent! Come on, a nod of the head, a yes, anything will do, but they can't touch you until you do..." his eyes are wide with worry, and Spencer thinks he nodded, because he rushes off to grab a Doctor, who immediately injects him. It's funny, Spencer notes, he can't feel a damn thing, even before the anaesthetic. He'd been shot in the arm, big deal? He's been hurt before, shot in the thigh, his back set on fire, tortured, had his head whacked in with the butt of a gun. Morgan is back, and he keeps touching Reid's face. Spencer wants to bite back and tell him he doesn't like physical contact when he realises- each touch is soothing. Each touch reminds him of kindness, and so he leans in to every soft word, and the doors slam, and he can feel the world moving beneath him. "It's gonna be okay, Reid, it's gonna be okay,"

Is it?

...  
...  
...

Spencer wakes up four days later.

Alone.

As it was always meant to be, he supposes.

The nurse tells him that his team had stayed by his bedside for two days and nights straight, reading to him. She tells him he has wonderful friends, he agrees. When asked if they want him to alert his team he's awake, and fine, and about to check himself out, he declines. They're FBI agents, they'll find out eventually. "Can I ask," Reid whispered, he's in his own clothes, JJ must have brought some new ones, it's a green shirt with a black waist coat and his normal tight black trousers. He brushes his hair, just really swiping it out of his eyes. He'll cut it very soon. "Why did it take me so long to wake up? It was just a shot in the shoulder?"

The nurse smiles pityingly "You went into shock while you were under, your body wasn't coping, don't worry, it happens sometimes, caused by stress,"

He nods, understanding "Okay, well thank you,"

She frowns "Are you sure you don't want to call a friend? Or we can have someone from the hospital take you home? A taxi, I can call one for you?" Spencer has to smile for her, she's nice. She's very, very nice, and he wishes she didn't have autumn hair.

"A taxi would be great, thank you very much,"

It's worth it, he thinks to himself, to have forced the compliment from his lips, because he hasn't made someone smile in a very long time. 

He's home before he knows it, locking the door behind him, and looks around. The walls hidden with bookcases, filled with books, mostly first editions, he's been spoilt. Everything is tidy, everything is so god damn tidy it drives him near mad. He tears his arm along one of the shelves, sending books tumbling and the tears finally fall. Everything hurts, and he has no injuries. Again, again, again, again, again, and he's sobbing loudly as books tumble all around him, scattering across the floor, opening on random pages, the words of his favourite philosophers, scientists, sci fi writers, even comic books. And soon he can't see one inch of carpet, it's just books, and he feels safe. Safe and tired, even though he's been sleeping for four days. He weeps, the tears sting as they fall from his eyes, but they feel so right, and he remembers the last time he cried. It was Emily, Emily's death, but she came back. It seems cruel, but he wishes Maeve would come back, he'd give up Emily for Maeve. 

Her book is there, the hard back blue cover, sitting on his coffee table, as though it knew what would happen. He picks it up, hugging it tightly into his chest, and he crumples onto the ground, and cries himself to sleep.

He hasn't done that since he was in high school.

...  
...  
...

"Hey guys," Morgan frowns as he heads into the conference room, the team look up at him expectantly "I called the hospital to ask how Reid was doing- he checked out 3 days ago,"

"By himself?" Hotch looks confused "Why weren't we alerted?"

"The hospital said he chose not to tell us." Morgan tapped his phone against his hip worriedly "You know, after suffering a loss like this, there are really only two reasons he'd do something like this."

JJ lets out a harsh sob as she realises, and Rossi sighs, speaking; "He either wants to be alone, or he wanted to commit suicide,"

The words seems to kick start something in Morgan, and he turns, "I'm gonna go check on him,"

"Morgan!" Hotch calls after him, standing sternly "He might..." he comes out of the office, closing the door behind him out of respect, even though he's aware they all know of Spencer's problem "He might be on some drugs, you need to be careful,"

"He won't hurt me Hotch," Morgan shakes his head in disbelief

"I'm not worried about that. I'm worried about him hurting himself. I know what's it's like to lose someone you love, especially in this job," he can't help the emotion leak into his voice, and it's because Hotch has always viewed Reid as the most brave, yet weakest person on the team. "And you feel like it's all your fault. He'll blame himself Morgan, if he even lets you in. You won't be able to convince him otherwise. Just be careful, and if he is..." he can't bring himself to say the word 'dead'. 

"He won't be, Hotch." Morgan hisses determinedly. Hotch nods, and looks as though he wants to believe it. 

...  
...  
...

Morgan can't help but smile at all the baskets outside Reid's door. But he feels better, because he knows Garcia bought him 9 baskets, and there are only 7 out here. The one's that were closest to his apartment are missing. At least the kids eating. He knocks on the door gently, and listens "Hey kid? It's me, Derek, open up," he's met with nothing but stony silence. Stubborn. "Come on pretty boy, just let me see you. Hotch thinks you might have offed yourself, let me prove him wrong." He hears shuffling that time, like someone stepped towards the door, but not opening it. Reel him in, Morgan thinks to himself, this is Reid, you've known him for 8 years. What would he like? "Prime numbers!" he finds himself calling, and by some miracle, the door opens.

He's a mess. Hair is a mess, face is a mess, the apartment look horrendous, and he's thinner than ever. "Hi." he says quietly. And Morgan can't blame him. He hauls in all the baskets, and then closes the door behind him. It takes a long time, as Reid stands there, looking worn over and tired. Morgan packs away each basket into the worryingly empty kitchen, he picks up Reid's books, and slides them into the bookcase, they're probably not in the right order, but it looks fine. He cleans up, until it looks the way it did. Before all of this. He turns, to see Reid just standing there. 

"Is there anything I can do?" he whispers. And because he wasn't expecting a reply, he's almost thrilled to here Reid say

"I want a hair cut."

It's more of a plea, than anything, but Morgan smiles wildly "Hell yeah, pretty boy, I can do that. You know, before when I had hair, I used to be quite the model," Reid half smiles, and let's Morgan drag him to the bathroom, to sit on the edge of the bathtub, feet inside the ceramic white bowl, and fetches a brush and some scissors. He doesn't ask Reid how much, doesn't ask him what style, because he knows the kid won't have a clue. He brushes his hair, then washes it, he soaks Reid's clothes, but the younger one doesn't care. He's needed to change them for a while. Then it's being brushed, and cut, and then dried. So gently, he wouldn't believe for a minute that Morgan was a FBI agent. But when he looks in the mirror, he smiles. It's exactly what he wanted, it's different and it's normal. Still the same shade of dark hazelnut, but it doesn't come down past his ears, it looks healthy and whispy, and messy in the way he likes it, falling into his forehead, but not obscuring his face. And he may get Hotch's boy band comment one of these days. 

"Thank you,"

...  
...  
...

It seems to have done it. Morgan wouldn't leave his apartment, forcing him to shower, and to eat, and to read, not just her book. But others, he buys them for him. They're not first editions, and they're not even his type of genre, but he finds reading about kids with super powers and magical mysteries incredibly refreshing, incredibly stimulating. Eventually, Morgan opens his eyes, from where he's been sleeping on the couch the past 2 weeks, to see Spencer standing there, his satchel on, and he's dressed, a purple shirt, grey waistcoat, and dark trousers, dirty converse, just like before. "I'm ready to go back to work,"

"Well come back, kid," Morgan whispers with a smile. 

Everyone's nice to him, Hotch even hugs him, scalding him for not calling, and Penelope showers him with so many muffins he thinks he's going to burst. He's missed his desk, he realises, he's missed rattling off statistics to everyone, and apparently they've missed it too, because not even Rossi rolls his eyes when he starts, in fact, he looks eager. He's missed catching unsubs, the way the smooth metal of the gun feels in his hands. He's missed the vest, even though the last time he wore it he...he's missed the sweet coffee, he's missed the jet. He's missed Henry and JJ. He's just missed all of it. 

But of course he can't forget, and he won't forget.

"And I don't expect you to forget," Hotch whispers, sitting opposite him on the jet. Everyone else is asleep, everyone but Morgan, Reid has the sneaking suspicion that the dark man is listening intently, but he doesn't mind. He owes Morgan everything. "I think about Hailey every day, and the days that I don't? Should I feel guilty?"

"No," Spencer said quietly, twiddling his thumbs "It's shows you're healing and moving on," Hotch nods accordingly

"When was the last time you went a whole day without thinking about Maeve?"

"Two days ago. We finally caught the MildCreek Strangler,"

"And you felt guilty?"

"Yes."

"It'll get better," comes the whisper, touching his hand, and Reid nods his head, he knows it will, he knows it will, because for the first time in a long time, the roaring in his ears has faded. And he can hear, he can hear sound with perfect clarity. It's beautiful. "Now get some sleep, even members of boy bands need to rest."

...  
...  
...

"Hi," comes the gentle voice, Reid looks up from his position on the park bench, from his book, a murder mystery, and surely he should get enough of it at work, but these ones guarantee a happy ending. It's the nurse, the one from the hospital, with auburn hair, and she's smiling at him.

"Hi," he echoes

"How are you doing? All better?"

It's not a loaded question, but when he answers, he feels like maybe everything's going to be okay, he beckons for her to join him, and smiles beautifully as the sunlight bursts through the trees "All better."

He won't forget. Even if he didn't have the eidetic memory, he wouldn't forget. How could he? She was perfect. But what he's realised? Everyone else in his life, was perfect too. It just took her, to see it.

**Author's Note:**

> I just rewatched that episode...I couldn't stop crying. 
> 
> Please comment
> 
> x


End file.
